


Stiles Stilinski: Actual Disney Princess

by LadySlytherin



Series: The Wolf's Red Mate [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Language, Alive Allison, Alive Cora Hale, Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Derek, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Crossdressing Stiles Stilinski, Deputy Derek Hale, Derek Hale as the Big Bad Wolf, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Derek's Eyebrows, Derek's Manpain, Drag Queens, Embedded Images, Jackson Never Left, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Non-Explicit Gay Sex, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Protective Derek, Red Riding Hood Elements, Sassy Peter Hale, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Spell Failure, Stiles Stilinski as Little Red Riding Hood, Stiles-centric, Werewolf Jackson, alternate fairy tales, random Moana reference, werewolf story time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9515255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: Halloween + Drag queen friends = Crossdressing!Stiles fic! Throw in a miscast spell that has woodland creatures and our resident weres trailing behind Stiles a-la-fairytale-logic and you’ve got a recipe for disaster...and love.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tootsie2230](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsie2230/gifts).



> Post-Season 2 AU; set in senior year. Jackson never left, Cora comes back but Erica and Boyd don't die; 3A/3B don't happen...you get the picture.
> 
> This was an idea I had a while back, which I started before Halloween and only recently finished. It has embedded artwork, done by me. I am not an artist; I am a writer! Do not judge me! OTL
> 
> Kudos are nice; comments are the best. Feel free to come poke me on tumblr: everything-a-wolf-could-want.tumblr.com
> 
> ~ Sly

By his senior year of high school, there were a few things Stiles was 100% certain of. The first was that he was, most definitely, the least attractive member of his social circle, despite having a few things going for him, looks-wise. The second was that most of his social circle only existed as-such because of Scott and/or lycanthropy-related issues, since most of them were so much more attractive and/or popular than he was. The third was the sad fact that no one seemed to believe anything he said, no matter how many times or how loudly he said it, as though it was inherently irrelevant or ignorable or reasonably assumed untrue simply because it came from him. Which was stupid, considering Stiles was arguably right at least 95% of the time. Stiles was also mostly sure that, with the exception of Lydia, he was the smartest person in their group. And while Lydia was great at cold, hard facts and archaic Latin and that sort of thing, _Stiles_ was the strategist.

So when Lydia coldly dismissed the idea that Stiles could contribute anything worthwhile to the group’s discussion on Halloween costumes - _‘Really, Stiles, you’ve got no fashion sense at all and everyone knows it. I’ll pick something for you so you don’t wind up embarrassing the rest of us at our party.’_ \- Stiles had barely resisted the urge to punch a wall. Instead, he started _planning._ Not a costume, exactly, though that was certainly a piece of the overall scheme he had in the works. No, Stiles was sick and tired of being an afterthought. He was fed-up with being the tagalong in their group. He was _done_ being forgettable, and ignorable, and replaceable.

Stiles had walked out of Derek’s loft, too furious to even think about things like fog machines and bobbing for apples and whatever else the pack’s Halloween party would consist of this year. Lydia had snorted and made a caustic remark to his retreating back about him not being able to handle criticism, to which Stiles had responded by flipping her off over his shoulder. It had been a while since he’d worshiped the redhead and he often thought her ego hadn’t quite recovered yet from him getting over her between all the blood and death and magic they’d gone through. Scott had called after him to wait; to come back. But no footsteps followed him as he headed down the steps and Stiles figured they’d all gone right back to planning without him. Stiles tried to tell himself it didn’t hurt, because after all this time he was used to being written off, but it _did._ Somehow it had never stopped bothering him that no one seemed to realize his worth.

Or rather, no one _in the pack._

Stiles climbed into his jeep and started her up, eyes flicking to the lit-up windows of Derek’s loft several stories above. Deciding the distance plus the loudly idling engine, combined with the fact that none of them were likely to give a fuck what he was doing in the first place, meant that no one would hear him hanging out for a few more minutes, Stiles pulled out his phone. He flicked quickly through his messages, a bitter twist to his mouth as he realized the group text-chat he was pulling up was easily the most frequently used. The pack went on and on about being a family, but Stiles had somehow wound up on the outskirts of that, pushed aside and away a little at a time unless his druidic-spark-skills were needed or their first three moronic plans had failed. So Stiles had filled his free time with a _different_ set of friends, though none of the pack ever believed him when he tried to talk about his _‘other friends’._ Just like no one ever believed him when he said he’d been out clubbing all weekend when they’d forgotten about him, or when he said he could dance, or when he hinted at the fact that he was just as attracted to guys as he was to girls.

**_Stiles: 911; how soon can evry1 b @mine?_ **

Within a minute, Stiles’ phone was going nuts, messages pouring in one after another.

**_Phoenix: what happened???_ **

 

**_Alissah: who am i killing_ **  
**_Alissah: say the word n they r ded_ **

**_Phoenix: 2 min tops bb_ **

**_Ginger: !!!!!?_ **

**_Angel: 10 4 me_ **  
**_Angel: grabbing choc; requests?_ **

**_Dee: eta-30min_ **  
**_Dee: on my way bb-boy_ **

**_Phoenix: u kno best angel_ **

**_Nick: work_ **

**_Alissah: give me 5 love_ **

**_Nick: shld i get Ben 2 cover?_ **

**_Ginger: across town_ **  
**_Ginger: 15min_ **

Stiles wanted to cry a little, if only because the rapid response was so unlike anything he got from his other friends these days. It was an outpouring of love and compassion and a desire to help simply because they adored him, exactly as he was, and he needed that after the shitty evening he’d had so far. Pulling in a shaky breath, Stiles did his best to reply to everyone as quickly as he could, not wanting them to worry overmuch.

**_Stiles: @nick-don’t bail work 4 this; fill u in l8r_ **  
**_Stiles: need abt 10 2 get home no1 panic if u get there 1st_ **  
**_Stiles: @angel-ice cream plz?_ **  
**Stiles: see u soon**

Stiles smiled as everyone agreed, with Nick promising to check in when he got off work at midnight, then dropped his phone onto the passenger seat and shifted his jeep into gear. As he pulled away from Derek’s building and headed for home, an idea he’d been toying with for at least six months started to coalesce into a full-fledged plan, though the finer details were still a bit sketchy. The pack was so certain they knew Stiles inside and out - that he was predictable and unimpressive and easily dismissed - but Stiles had more than a few secrets up his sleeve these days. Maybe it was time to prove everyone wrong. To show the pack that they didn’t know Stiles as well as they all thought. To do something brash, and wild, and unpredictable. 

After all, what was the worst that could happen?

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

Stiles smiled at his dad when he walked in to find his only son in the middle of a snuggle-pile. “Hey, Daddy-O, how was work?”

“Oh, the usual when things are, you know, _usual.”_ Noah’s pointed words were, of course, referencing the supernatural elements he sometimes encountered and had known about for a year and a half. “I thought you were spending time with Scott and them tonight.”

“Change of plans, sir.” Brian smiled charmingly and fluttered his eyelashes at the Sheriff. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as when he did it as _Phoenix,_ but Stiles was amused to see his dad blush anyway. “Stiles here needed a little bit of girl time and we decided to oblige. House rules applied, we swear.”

Noah glanced at the clock - it was creeping past eleven-thirty - and raised an eyebrow at the assembled group. “If house rules apply, then it’s past Stiles’ curfew, considering it’s Wednesday. The fact that he’s at home doesn’t negate that. He has school in the morning.”

Alissah smiled sweetly and began nudging everyone else and pointing to various detritus from their movie-and-junk-food binge even as she spoke to Noah. “We’ll just help Stiles clean up real quick and be out of your hair. We all agree with how important Stiles’ schooling and grades are.”

“I appreciate that.” Noah nodded towards the kitchen. “Stiles, while your friends gather up this stuff, I want a word with you in the kitchen.” Seeing the stricken look on five faces - six if you counted Stiles’ - he hastily added. “I’m not upset with any of you. Just need a private word with my son, that’s all.”

Stiles followed his dad into the kitchen, then waited in silence for him to speak. “Derek called me a few hours ago and said you’d stormed out. He was worried you might get into trouble.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Which is why you called the house not long after I got here. You were checking to see if I came home.” Before his dad could say anything, Stiles snapped. “I _stormed out_ because they were being assholes. I’m sick of it, of the way they treat me, so I left and asked the queens to come over. I figured Wednesday isn’t a busy night for them and they’d likely be free, which they were. So.”

“Ginger’s dressed, though. Surprised me, considering I’m not used to seeing her sitting next to Brian, Kevin, and Terry. Would’ve expected to see Chris.” Noah pointed out, and Stiles smiled because his dad was always fantastic about remembering to call the girls _girls_ when they were dressed up, and he remembered all of their stage names with ease. “Sure she wasn’t busy?”

“She had a date.” Stiles admitted, and he’d been horrified when Ginger told him she’d ducked out of it to come and cheer him up but also flattered and so grateful.

“He wasn’t that interesting anyway.” Ginger chirped cheerfully as she sashayed into the kitchen, hands full of ice cream bowls and spoons. “You did me a favor, sugar, trust me. I had way more fun hanging with you all tonight, especially with our new little project.”

Noah gave Stiles a stern look. “What _project,_ Stiles?”

And Stiles knew his face was heating up, but he raised his chin stubbornly anyway and said. “My Halloween costume. I told the girls I want to try drag, and they’re going to help me figure everything out.”

For a moment no one spoke, then Noah’s lips curved up into a fond smile. “Your mother would’ve loved to see that, Stiles. She was a free spirit, like you. She’d be so proud of the man you’re becoming.”

Stiles ducked his head and blinked away tears, but he was grinning. The other queens rushed into the room, cooing and petting both Stiles and his father, because of course they’d been eavesdropping. After a few minutes, Noah thanked them all for looking out for Stiles’ well-being and shooed them out of the house. They went cheerfully enough, promising to call Stiles over the weekend to set up his costume. Stiles had never been more in (platonic) love with a group of people than he was with them in that moment.

And when the door shut behind them and Noah pulled Stiles into a snug embrace, just holding him for a minute, he’d never been more grateful that his dad was the man he was. Noah had accepted Stiles’ friendship with the drag queens who frequented Jungle more easily - and more happily - than he’d accepted the supernatural aspects of Stiles’ life. Noah trusted the queens (and Nick, who tended bar at Jungle) to keep Stiles safe - and sober - while he was out with them. Noah also trusted the queens to bring Stiles back in the exact same condition he’d been in when he left the house, which could _not_ be said of the pack. Noah had taken Stiles’ _real_ attempt at explaining he was bi with grace, saying he loved his son no matter what, and had actually asked the girls - and Nick - to give Stiles a full run-down of gay sex, and safe-sex practices, and asked them to watch over Stiles to make sure he didn’t get taken advantage of by some asshole man.

So of course Noah wasn’t going to bat an eye over Stiles wanting to wear a dress and heels and makeup. He might pitch a fit the next time Stiles had to go help take on a...a wandering wood nymph or lost leprechaun or rogue yeti, but he wasn’t going to fuss about something as simple as Stiles’ wardrobe. Not on Halloween, or any other day of the year. Stiles knew just how lucky he was, to have a dad who loved him no matter what. And while he missed his mom - because Claudia wouldn’t have just been accepting, she’d have helped Stiles pick out shoes - he was thankful every day for his dad.

So fuck the pack. Fuck Scott and the way he bailed out on Stiles for Allison even after everything she’d pulled and all of the on-again/off-again bullshit and that thing with Isaac...who Scott _also_ bailed on Stiles for, and Stiles really did _not_ want to know what the three of them were maybe doing together. And fuck Lydia Martin, who insisted she was better than everyone when Stiles had been saving her ass for _years,_ because Stiles knew people with better fashion sense than her and they’d been teaching him and he was going to _prove it._ And fuck Jackson, and Erica, and Cora, and Boyd, who’d all rolled their eyes when Stiles said he had other friends or plans outside of the pack, like none of them could believe he could possibly have a life. Most of all, fuck Derek Hale, who did nothing to control his betas as they made Stiles feel like shit and then called _Stiles’ dad_ like he was an errant child who needed scolding because he’d taken off rather than staying and subjecting himself to their attacks. Fuck all of them, and _not_ in the good way.

Stiles would show them _all._

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

“That’s...small.” It was the kindest description Stiles could think of for the costume he was being shown by the girls online. _Slutty_ was actually the word he’d wanted to use, but he was afraid of offending them.

“It’s _iconic.”_ Dee insisted, giving Stiles a sharp look. It was still early - just after school - but it was Friday and the girls were already dressed to go out as soon as it was late enough. “I thought you were a fan.”

“Yeah, I’m a fan. Love the look, actually. On _other people.”_ Stiles could feel how red his face was, at the mere thought of wearing something so... _revealing._ “That’s way too much skin on show for me.”

Dee pouted and Phoenix made a sympathetic noise. “I understand, Stiles, because this _is_ your first time, but let me just say. If I had that lithe build you have going on, all long legs and sleek muscle tone without any of the bulk, I’d rock the slave-Leia costume in a heartbeat.”

“Nope. Can’t do it.” Stiles was shaking his head a little frantically, because the idea of almost all of his very lanky and awkward frame being on full public display was a little too much for him to take. “I’m sorry. I just...I’m definitely not there right now. Like, confidence-wise.”

“Guessing my contribution won’t go much better...” Alissah laughed, but she pulled it up on her phone anyway and showed it to Stiles. He blanched and she laughed again. “Right, okay...scratch _sexy mermaid_ from the list.”

There was a pause, then Ginger asked. “Is it the bared legs or the _nothing but a bra_ that’s an issue? Because Stiles, love, you’ve got _amazing_ legs.”

Stiles ducked his head, but he was grinning. “Honestly, I just...those are just _too much_ is all. I don’t think I’d mind a shorter skirt. _Or_ something that showed a lot of my stomach. But not _both,_ you know?”

“Okay, what about this Cinderella one?” Ginger turned her tablet, revealing her contribution to the afternoon’s proceedings. The skirt was little more than a flouncy tutu, though the top was closer to a belly-baring cheerleading top than a bra, which was something. 

Still, Stiles had a long torso, and the costume looked like it would expose him from the middle of his ribcage or so, clean down to his hipbones. Which was a _lot_ of really pale flesh to have on display. “Still a bit much in the skin department.” Stiles said, adding. “Also, that’s like...powder blue. Maybe not the best color for me.”

“Very true. My turn!” Angel sing-songed as she sat down half on Stiles’ lap and half on Ginger’s, giggling the whole time as she wiggled until they separated and let her squeeze in between. “So, it’s a _bit_ of skin, but it’s a little darker of a blue than the Cinderella one, so...”

Stiles took her phone and stared down at what was apparently supposed to be Princess Jasmine from Disney’s Aladdin. Or, at least, some sort of sexy knockoff version. The top was even more belly-baring then the Cinderella one had been, though the scooped neckline was reassuringly high enough that Stiles could probably get away with _not_ enhancing his lack-of-chest. Rather than being off-the-shoulder, it had little cap sleeves with fringe. Stiles probably could have gotten behind it, had the legs of the pants been solid. Instead, it was essentially a pair of gold briefs with long strips of blue fabric that secured at the ankles, leaving the entire outer part of one’s leg - from the hip down - bared to the world. Which presented the same issue of _skin, skin, skin...everywhere._ Which Stiles was sort of trying to avoid. Because _no,_ and because _super pale_ and because _moles, dammit._ It was a whole series of issues, was the point.

“No?” Angel sighed, taking her phone back, the second she saw Stiles’ face. “Okay. Still too much skin or is the color not dark enough or...?”

“Both?” Stiles offered sheepishly, with an apologetic smile. “If the legs weren’t open at the sides, I’d consider it, but...yeah, it is still sort of a light blue. Something closer to Disney’s version color-wise wouldn’t be bad, though, so maybe? Like, maybe some form of Jasmine, if I don’t like anybody’s else’s suggestion more.”

“Fair enough.” Angel popped back off the couch, letting Phoenix settle next to Stiles. “Let’s see what else is on the table, then, and go from there.”

Stiles silently took Phoenix’s tablet, which was already open to her selection. And...Stiles liked it. A lot, actually. It was a little _much,_ in terms of style, but it was beautiful. Stiles’ coloring was, admittedly, perfect for it, considering it was a sexy version of Belle’s ball gown and Stiles had remarkably similar coloring to the Disney princess. The skirt was a _literal_ tutu, made of two shades of gold tulle. The bodice was covered in sequins in a deeper shade of gold, with twin rows of white lace running down the length of the bodice on either side. The top of the sweetheart bodice was edged with a white ruffle, and the ruffle was edged in lace at the bottom and with a row of white pearls at the top. Three strands of white pearls draped across the middle of the bodice from the shoulders, and it was further decorated with dark gold bows, one at each hip and a larger one in the center of the bodice. A large red rose blossom adorned the right shoulder.

And above the sweetheart bodice line, where Stiles might have worried about his shoulders being bared (they were, after all, a little broad), was a hood. It was made of a soft gold satin fabric, with white fur edging it. It would also negate the need for a wig, something Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to wear. His hair wasn’t exactly _long,_ but it was no longer buzzed down to his scalp so he figured he could get away with no wig provided he had the hood to help hide that fact. The color was good, the design wasn’t too revealing...it was a good fit all around.

“Wow.” Stiles was impressed that Phoenix had managed to pick something so suited to him. “It’s...wow. This is really nice.”

Phoenix was smirking a little, clearly pleased by Stiles’ reaction. “What can I say? I’m damned good.”

“Hey, just because he likes _your_ option, doesn’t mean I don’t get to show him mine.” Nick laughed, and Stiles grinned up at the bartender as he perched on the arm of the couch beside Stiles. “Here, take a look at this and tell me what you think.”

Stiles took the offered tablet and felt his heart stutter in his chest. “Holy shit.”

It was Little Red Riding Hood, but in a way Stiles had never seen. It was a deep blood red, with a short skirt underlaid with layers of black ruffled petticoats. The skirt had a stripe of black lace detailing an inch or so from the bottom hem, and so did the hooded cape which only fell a little past shoulder-length and was secured in the front with a black satin bow that almost looked like a bowtie. In the front, the red skirt was split open to reveal a panel of white with black paisley-patterned detailing. The front of the bodice had a strip of white, with black satin ribbon crisscrossing over it in a mimicry of a corset. A single thin line of black piping was on either side of the crisscrossed section, with a black ribbon bow at the bottom of each line, just at hip-line. The top of the bodice - just at the bust-area - was white ruffled fabric topped with a strip of black ribbon, with a black satin bow in the center. The model wearing the costume in the picture also had on elbow-length black satin gloves, fishnet stockings, and knee-high black boots.

It was funny, because Stiles had been tempted to let the girls dress him up before but he’d never followed through because he’d never seen something that made him _want_ to wear it. It was an idling sort of temptation, abstract and aimless. But this...this he _wanted_ to wear. He wanted to see how the deep color looked against his pale skin, and how the ruffled petticoats would look above his long legs. He wanted to walk into Derek’s loft and see the pack’s jaws drop as he cocked a hip and curved red-slicked lips into a smile. And he knew, without a doubt, that he would _never_ find a costume more suitable than _Little Red Riding Hood_ for himself. It was so perfect it was almost laughable.

“I think we have a winner.” Nick laughed, seeing the way Stiles had reverently reached out to touch the screen, pulling up a rear view of the costume, jaw slack and eyes wide. “Red _is_ your best color, Stiles.”

Phoenix had leaned over Stiles’ other shoulder and was looking annoyed and impressed at the same time. “If this wasn’t so completely perfect for you, I think I’d be annoyed you like it better than my choice. _But._ It’s literally flawless, isn’t it? You’re going to look gorgeous.”

And really, it was as simple as clicking a few buttons and purchasing the costume while the girls conferred over what accessories they could each contribute to save some money. As it was, Stiles didn’t have a credit card so it went on Nick’s, with Stiles - and each of the girls, despite Stiles’ protests - handing him cash to cover the cost. “We want to dress you up, and we’re easily going to get as much enjoyment out of this as you are, so _of course_ we’ll help pay for it.” Ginger laughed, waving off Stiles’ complaints. “Now shush and let us plan.”

And Stiles fell silent, entrusting himself to their oh-so-capable hands.

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

Walking into the loft on Halloween was a lot easier than Stiles thought it would be. He figured at least half of that was because he had the queens and Nick with him. Stiles knew Nick had had to pull favors to get the night off, and he knew the queens could easily be at Jungle showing off and hooking up, but instead they were walking into a high school party with Stiles and it meant _everything_ to him. Because _like hell_ they were letting Stiles do this on his own. Sometimes, Stiles wondered why they’d taken to him the way they had. Sometimes, he wondered what they hell he’d done to deserve their loyalty and affection and friendship. Mostly, he was just grateful to whatever higher power had brought them into his life that night he’d been chasing down the Kanima with Scott. They were amazing, and he was _so_ lucky they loved him.

“Who the hell are you?” Aaaand that was Jackson’s grating arrogance and self-entitlement, stopping them at the door. “This party is invitation only.”

“And _we’re_ invited.” Phoenix retorted, giving Jackson a scathing look as she arched one finely-groomed eyebrow at him in disdain. “So how’s about you move out of our way, little boy?”

Before Jackson could say anything else, Stiles nudged past the other girls - and Nick - so he was standing beside Phoenix. “They’re with me, Jackson. Move.”

“Wh... _Stiles?”_ Jackson mouth was hanging open, and as good as the well-muscled werewolf looked wearing the Batman costume - chosen by Lydia to compliment her Poison Ivy costume, which Stiles was interested in seeing for comic-book-love’s sake - Stiles was one hundred percent certain that, right in this moment, _he looked better._

“Tonight, it’s Red.” Stiles purred, doing his best to drop his voice down to the sultry tone the girls had worked with him on for the last two weeks. “Red Riding, specifically. Now, _move.”_

This time, Jackson obeyed, stepping off to one side and out of the way. Seconds later, Erica was standing in front of Stiles and the queens. Stiles wasn’t sure how she’d moved through the crowd packed into Derek’s loft so fast, but there she was, decked out in head-to-toe PVC as Catwoman. “Holy shit, Stiles. You look...” She let out a sharp wolf-whistle before glancing at the queens and Nick. “Can I assume this group is to credit for it? God knows you don’t look this good normally.”

“Stiles chose his costume on his own.” Nick retorted, glaring at Erica as he draped a protective arm over Stiles’ shoulders. “And while the girls gave him some pointers and showed him a few things over the last couple of weeks, Red did his own makeup tonight.”

Stiles said nothing, simply raised his eyebrow at Erica when she stared at him. After a moment, she huffed and turned on her heel, stomping away. “Well, that was fun.” Stiles muttered, laughing when Nick growled at Erica’s retreating form. “Don’t worry about it. I told you guys how they’ve been treating me. It’s not like I’m surprised by this. I just...I need to show them that they are _not_ the center of my world anymore. You know?”

“We get it, love.” It was Ginger who spoke, but the others immediately agreed and reached out to pat him, all of them as supportive as ever. “Now come on. Let’s get out there and _dance._ Show these folks how sexy our little boy can be.”

Protesting half-heartedly, Stiles happily let himself get dragged over to where a crush of costumed bodies was writhing together in a heated, sweaty mass. He did _love_ dancing.

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipMEEZATIP9UT2aQkOpL6otiEUOMnUQuQsYZc8nH3z4f9oXPXy6HF7HRGzIoDwxPKw?key=V0ZwenJnOHlCQnU2eG9ISm5xdnlRbW1nbmdfZkV3&source=ctrlq.org)

Stiles was leaning on the kitchen counter, chugging a bottle of water - hood pushed back to help with how overheated he felt after dancing for nearly an hour, picnic-basket-purse set on the counter beside him - when _it_ happened. He wasn’t alone in the kitchen by any means. Several people were nibbling on the snacks laid out on the table, a few more were drinking punch or, like Stiles, water. One girl who was dressed as a witch was leaning against the counter only a few feet away from Stiles, squinting at a book by the light of an LED candle she was holding in her other hand. Stiles frowned as he caught the alternatingly sharp and smooth sounds of Latin spilling from the girl’s lips, head snapping to one side to stare at her suspiciously. Her pronunciation was a little rough, but her intonation spoke of _magic,_ loud and clear. Stiles glanced around her and realized the candle she was holding was _real,_ though the flame was unnaturally steady. There were also herbs and salt spilled around her feet, and _oh no,_ that couldn't be good.

No one was paying her any attention - Who noticed a witch on Halloween? - but Stiles moved quickly towards her, determined to stop whatever she was trying to do before she finished. Just as he stepped into the herb-scattered area of the floor, her head snapped up and she locked eyes with him, looking stunned. Magic - a deep red smoke - lashed out from the book in her hands and coiled around Stiles’ body for a moment before sinking in. He could feel the way it tangled around the spark he had inside him, and it was unpleasant and strange and had him gasping in shock even as he glared heatedly at the witch.

“What did you just do to me?”

“I...I don’t...” She glanced down at the book in her hands, then up at Stiles, looking uncertain and afraid and, dear god, _very young._ Stiles thought she was maybe fifteen...possibly as young as thirteen. “It wasn’t supposed to _work,_ and it was _for me,_ and I...”

“What was it?” Stiles snapped again, reaching out to grab both book and candle from her trembling hands. He could feel the magic in the book - old, he was sure of that much at least - the second he touched it. “What was it supposed to do?”

“I dressed like a witch. It...it was supposed to make me a _real_ one.” And there was a quaver in her voice, and her big blue eyes were wet with tears. “I didn’t think it would work. Not really. It...it’s just a _book,_ right?”

Stiles snarled again, furious for reasons he didn’t even have words for, and bit out from between clenched teeth. “I suggest you go home and forget this ever happened. And don’t you _ever_ fuck around with magic again. This isn’t a _game,_ dammit!”

Nodding and still looking miserable and afraid, the girl turned and fled from the kitchen. Stiles watched her go before glaring down at the book. He tried to blow the candle’s flame out, but it didn’t even waver with his breath, making him wonder if it was tied into the spell’s magic somehow. Deciding he’d worry about it later, when the loft _wasn’t_ full of unsuspecting humans, Stiles pushed through the crowd and headed for the spiral staircase that led to Derek’s bedroom. It was chained off, but Stiles ducked under the chain without a second thought. He was halfway up the stairs when Nick called out to him from below.

“Red! Where are you going? I don’t think you’re supposed to go up there.” He leaned over the rope, watching Stiles with a concerned look on his face. “Are you feeling okay? Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine. Derek won’t mind me going up for a minute.” Which wasn’t strictly true, but Derek wouldn’t mind Stiles securing the items tied to an unknown spell he’d been hit with, at any rate, and it amounted to the same thing in this case. “Just, someone almost spilled punch on this book. It’s a family thing, antique, and Derek’ll be pissed if it gets ruined, so I’m just going to put it in his room. Not sure how it got missed during the party setup, actually, but yeah. I’ll only be a second.”

Nick nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. “If you’re sure. Just...be careful, okay? Some places are off limits for a reason, right?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Stiles laughed, a little confused, but nodded. “Pretty sure Derek just doesn’t want any teenagers boning on his bed, but okay. I’ll be back down in a second.”

Once he was safely out of sight, Stiles let his shoulders slump a little. He set the candle - a slim purple taper - on top of Derek’s bookshelf, placing the book next to it. Then he - after a quick glance around - slid his hands under his petticoats and skirt, patting his junk. Which, thankfully, was still in place. The girl in the kitchen had been dressed as a witch, in attempt to _become_ a witch. Stiles, for his part, has no desire to trade his dick in for lady bits, and he was relieved to find that despite wearing a skirt, that had _not_ happened. The question remained, of course, what _had_ the spell done? Stiles figured it couldn't be all that terrible as long as he was still a dude.

Whatever it was, it would hold until Halloween was over.

Shaking it off, Stiles grabbed a piece of scrap paper and a pencil off Derek’s desk and scribbled a note saying, _‘Got hit with unknown spell during party. Book and candle connected. Deal with it soon.’_ and signed it with a hastily scribbled _Stiles_ before heading back downstairs to the party. He had people waiting for him, and only half the pack had seen him so far, and he was going to _dance._

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

Stiles wasn’t surprised when he felt hands on his hips and a strong body pressed up against his from behind while he was dancing. It was par for the course, really, when he was at Jungle, because Stiles was damned good at moving his hips. So he really didn’t think anything of it. He just kept moving to the music, though he did lean back into the guy - whoever he was - and let the stranger take some of his weight, just because he could. He also sent up a silent thank you to the God-of-Costumes for designing his with so many layers of black ruffled petticoats, because he’d had way too many random boners pressed into him at Jungle and he was grateful for the barrier his skirts presented for the evening. Not because Stiles had anything against dicks - in general, or even in a specifically sex-as-it-related-to-him sort of way - but just because he didn’t like the dicks of _strangers_ becoming personally acquainted with his backside without his express permission.

Stiles felt like that was a pretty fair line to draw in the sand.

However, a growling voice in his ear had Stiles stiffening. And not in a good way. “Hey there, Little Red. Looking for a Big Bad Wolf to eat you up?”

“Ew, what the fuck?” Stiles demanded, whirling around to glare at Isaac. Because _no._ A million and one times, _hell fucking no._ “First off, you’re like...in some way, shape, or form _involved_ with my best friend. Second off, you tried to kill me. More than once! And third off, you are a scarf-wearing best-friend-stealing _douchebag_ who I have no intention of _ever_ letting that close to my person ever again.”

Isaac’s eyes flashed gold and a hint of fang was visible as he smirked at Stiles and stalked closer, even as Stiles backed himself right off the dance floor in a bid to escape the predatory look on the beta’s face. “Awww, what’s the matter, Red? Regretting straying from the path already? Come on, it’s not so bad, being swallowed down by a wolf, I promise. You might find you like it.”

Stiles stopped backing away to glare, reaching into the picnic basket he still had looped over one arm, grateful he’d opted to dance with it so as to keep it in-reach at all times. He drew out a small vial of gray powder and shook it threateningly at Isaac. “If you think for one second that I won’t throw this shit in your face and hope you choke to death, you’re dead wrong. Back off, Isaac. Or else.”

Isaac’s grin widened, and there was more than a _hint_ of fang showing now. He lisped a little around them when he spoke. “You’ll find yourself alone in the woods one of these days, Red, and we both know it. It’ll be interesting to see which wolf gets to sink their fangs into you when the time comes.”

As Isaac strolled away, whistling cheerfully to himself, Stiles found himself shaking almost uncontrollably. Stiles hadn’t felt afraid of _any_ of the wolves - not even Peter - in longer than he could say, but he’d been afraid of Isaac just then. Something was wrong. Very, _very_ wrong. He just wasn’t sure _what_ yet.

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

Things only got weirder as the night progressed. Each of the wolves - _including Scott_ and except Derek, who was nowhere to be found - flashed eyes and fangs at Stiles. Some did it from across the room, some did it at close range, and more than one did it while saying something that sounded both sexual and threatening at the same time. It was nerve-wracking and finally Stiles couldn't take it any longer. He went to find Allison - hoping that as a fellow-human, she would be less weird than the wolves were acting - to explain that he was leaving. He’d lost the desire to socialize around the time Erica had said something obscene while Boyd watched them both with hungry eyes and bared fangs, and that had been at least twenty minutes earlier.

“I’m going home.” Stiles muttered when he finally tracked Allison down, grateful neither Isaac nor Scott was anywhere near her. “I doubt anyone will miss me, but yeah. Also, I got hit with a spell earlier and I’ll swing by tomorrow to pick up the components I stashed in Derek’s room so I can research the whole mess. I don’t want to risk transporting them through this crowd.”

Allison turned to frown at him, looking unhappy. “You shouldn’t go out alone. Let me take you home. It’s not safe at night.”

Stiles snorted, though he was a little offended. “It’s Beacon Hills, Allison. It’s not safe at noon, either. I’ve got mountain ash in my picnic basket, among other things. I’ll be fine. I’m hardly helpless.”

“Little Red Riding Hood shouldn’t go out alone.” Allison repeated, face serious. “It’s far too tempting for the wolves, wouldn’t you agree? Better safe than sorry, unless tempting them is what you _want.”_

“I’m not _tempting_ anyone. I’m going home.” Stiles snapped, bristling a little. “Also, now _you’re_ acting weird, just like everybody else, so I’m definitely leaving. I can protect myself, and anyway, Nick’s going to drive me home before he and the girls head over to Jungle. Thanks for worrying, I guess, but don’t bother.”

There was a pause, then Allison tipped her head to the side. “Be careful, Red. The woods are full of wolves and you’re nothing but meat to them. One way or another, they’ll rip you open and swallow you down, if you give them half a chance to.”

“On that delightfully weird note, I’m leaving.” Stiles turned on his heel and walked away, wondering why everyone’s dialogue recently seemed like a non-playable character in a video game. Technically, they were responding to the things he said, but it was all sound-bite worthy. Almost scripted, but not quite. Shaking it off, Stiles left the loft, knowing Nick was waiting for him downstairs.

He didn’t notice the eyes watching him from a shadowed corner as he hurried down the stairs, eyes locked on his phone as he texted his dad that he was on his way home. They followed him, glowing eerily in the dark, a bright and burning red that matched Stiles’ clothes.

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

Stiles stared at himself in the mirror and swiped at his lips again with the tissue he was holding in tightly clenched fingers. The tissue came away clean, but Stiles’ lips were still rose-red in color and it _wasn’t_ from rubbing at them, either. It was like the lipstick had somehow stained his mouth. Finally, Stiles shook his head and left the bathroom to head to bed. The soft golden color smudged on his eyelids had come off, and the black rimming his eyes, though his eyelashes still looked unnaturally long and thick as though they had mascara on them. Which they _didn’t,_ but whatever. He wasn’t up for fighting with the mirror. He stepped into his room and stripped off the knee-high platform boots he’d borrowed from Angel. The elbow-length black gloves he’d borrowed from Dee were already resting on the desk, taken off before he’d gone to remove his makeup.

Next he rolled down the thigh-high fishnets, careful not to tear them, and let them hang over the back of his desk chair. The short red cape came off next, also slung over the chair, and then Stiles took off the dress. The girls had agreed he hadn’t needed a bra - as he’d not padded his chest; the ruched top of the dress giving an illusion of bust with no assistance required - so there was no need to deal with _that_ at least. He slid the dress onto a hanger and hooked it on the doorknob to his closet, then shimmied out of the three layers of ruffled petticoats. He let them just drop to the floor, since the material was pretty much wrinkle-resistant, and then let himself drop back onto the bed. He was wearing a pair of black boxer-briefs and nothing else, and that was one hundred percent okay with him.

Closing his eyes, Stiles curled up onto his side and slid into sleep. Hopefully the whole spell-mess would be something he could quickly resolve come morning. In the meantime, all Stiles wanted was a good night’s sleep before he dealt with it.

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

After stretching himself awake, Stiles blinked down in confusion at his underwear. Which were red. He was absolutely certain they’d been black last night. “The fuck...” He muttered, before shaking his head and standing to stretch once more. Then he decided it didn’t matter.

“Clothes, coffee, food...spell.” He decided out-loud, grabbing up a pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He’d change before running over to Derek’s, but they’d suffice for the trip to the kitchen and bathroom.

The first thing Stiles did was pee, then he went and got the coffee maker started before popping two strawberry Poptarts into the toaster oven. While he waited, Stiles leaned against the counter, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest, just breathing in the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Even that was enough to make him feel more alert, so when he opened his eyes at the sound of the toaster popping up to spit his breakfast at him, he _immediately_ noticed that something was wrong. Figuring out _what_ was simply a matter of looking down the length of his own body.

His sweatpants and t-shirt were _red._ A deep blood red.

Stiles didn’t panic. He very calmly fixed himself a cup of coffee, put his Poptarts on a plate, and walked back up the stairs to his room. He sat down at his desk and began eating his breakfast, all the while his brain pondered over the issue of his wardrobe change. Panicking accomplished nothing that rational thought and sound logic couldn't accomplish at least three times faster. So Stiles didn’t panic.

By the time the coffee and Poptarts were gone, Stiles had decided to _experiment._ Just a little. First, he took the shirt and sweatpants off. Fifteen minutes later, he had to conclude that they were _not_ going to stop being red just because they weren’t on his body anymore. Next, he pulled on a grey tank top and set a timer, waiting. Around the five minute mark - between one blink and the next - it turned the same shade of red as everything else. Stiles took it off immediately, but it didn’t matter; it stayed as red as the other things had. Stiles tried again with a pair of white socks and got the same results - five minutes in, they turned red and stayed that way. Stiles’ next attempt was to put on a blue t-shirt and then take it off _before_ the five minute mark.

But sure enough, five minutes after he’d pulled it on, the blue was suddenly red, sitting tauntingly on the floor next to Stiles’ bed, mocking him with its new color. Apparently once the clothing was on him, it was only a matter of time before it changed colors. Which led to Stiles just _holding_ a shirt for several minutes. When he hit the seven minute mark, he relaxed and decided it was only things he was wearing that were affected. Which was something, at least, though he _really_ didn’t want to sacrifice _any_ of his clothing to some capricious color-spell or whatever the hell this was.

And suddenly Stiles’ eyes were drawn to the dress hanging on the back of the closet door. “Oh no...” He whispered, eyes wide and horrified as he remembered the wannabe-witch’s words from the night before regarding the spell to _make something real..._ and what he himself had been dressed as.

Combined with the odd behavior of the wolves the night before, Stiles had a sudden sickening feeling that the reason his clothes were changing colors was because the spell wanted him back in the costume...or the best possible substitute it could conjure from whatever he had on. “No...no, no, _no._ I am _not_ Little Red Riding Hood, goddammit. I _will not_ play this part!”

This, of course, was precisely why Stiles found himself pulling the jeep into the parking lot for the building Derek owned wearing the stupid costume. Because no, he wasn’t going to play the role, but he also wasn’t going to ruin more of his clothing, _obviously._ And the spell didn’t seem to affect the costume at all, since it was what the spell wanted him wearing. As evidenced by the way his other clothing had turned back to their original colors the moment he’d slid the dress on. And really, the sooner he got the whole mess sorted out, the sooner he could take the costume off and put on normal clothes again. It was just... _expedient,_ to give in on this one thing. That was all. It did _not_ mean Stiles was letting the spell hold sway.

Forcibly ignoring his own clothing, Stiles got out of the jeep and stomped his way towards Derek’s building. By the time he thundered into the loft, his mood blacker than his borrowed boots and gloves. He’d considered half-assing the costume today, but he’d been wary of what the spell might do so he’d erred on the side of caution and put the whole thing back on. The only upside, as far as Stiles could tell, was that he still looked fucking _amazing._ So that was something, anyway. It wasn’t helping much.

When Stiles entered, he didn’t see anyone. Grateful, he headed straight for the spiral staircase. Just as he put his foot on the bottom step, the very last voice he wanted to hear spoke from behind him. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? Is Little Red looking for the big bad wolf?”

“No, I definitely _am not.”_ Stiles snapped, turning his head to glare at Peter. “I’m just picking up the stuff I stashed in Derek’s room last night. I got slammed by some teeny bopper who thought magic would be cute to play with and I want this spell _gone._ Sooner, rather than later. So kindly fuck off and leave me to it.”

“Tsk, tsk, Red.” Peter’s eyes flashed and claws tipped his fingers as he prowled a little closer. “You ought to mind your tongue. Not everyone takes kindly to being snarked at, and you might find yourself on the wrong side of a predator’s temper.”

“I am stuck in a costume, being spoken to like everyone around me is reading a vaguely murdery porn version of the Little Red Riding Hood fairy tale, and armed with both wolfsbane and mountain ash.” Stiles leveled Peter with a deeply unimpressed and supremely pissed off look. “I’d advise you to take yourself somewhere very, _very_ far away from me and stay there until this is fixed. _Or else.”_

Peter raised an eyebrow, but stopped approaching. His tone was more curious than anything else, though annoyance crept into it as well. “A spell, you say? Well, well...what sort of mess have you wandered into this time, Red? Straying from the path is hardly wise. One of these days, you’re going to stumble into the kind of trouble you can’t run away from.” Peter’s mouth twisted sourly and he added. “I don’t like not being able to control what I say. The meaning is close, but the words...”

And that had Stiles wondering just how much control the spell had, and just how far it extended, and how aware those affected were. “So you can tell it’s making you say weird shit? Because last night, nobody seemed to realize how fucked up what they were saying and doing was. Is it like mind control? What’s it feel like?”

Peter grimaced and shifted back, away from Stiles. He didn’t stop until he was clear across the loft and had to raise his voice a little to speak. “It’s not as bad from here. I do feel a bit compelled to stalk you, but I’m capable of resisting. It’s not creating feelings, but does seem inclined to twist my words into a certain formatting style. With enough willpower, I think I could resist that as well.”

“So basically the spell is trying to tweak everything around me into following the plot of Little Red Riding Hood, but it’s not like I’m actually _in_ the fairy tale all of a sudden.” Stiles drummed his fingers on the railing. “It doesn’t seem like the spell can manufacture anything - there’s not a _literal_ wolf stalking me, a random grandma hasn’t appeared out of nowhere, my basket-purse isn’t suddenly filled with goodies - but it can flux reality a little. Like how anything I put on that’s _not_ this costume turns red. And how everyone’s words come out fairy tale-slanted around me. It’s modifying, but not strongly. Probably because Sabrina wasn’t _actually_ a witch.”

Peter tipped his head to the side a little, then growled. “I’m going to leave, before I cross this room and do something to merit your father shooting me. Like rip that _obscenely_ delightful costume off you.” Peter all but ran for the door, though he paused to toss over his shoulder. “I’m guessing, for all that my reputation precedes me, that I am _not_ the big bad wolf in this scenario, Stiles. I’d advise you to figure out which one of us _is,_ before it’s too late for someone to save you.”

Even as the steel door slammed shut, Stiles shouted. “I don’t need saving, dammit!”

There was no reply, and Stiles huffed in annoyance before storming up the stairs and into Derek’s room. The candle and book were right where he’d left them, though the candle seemed a little bit shorter. There was no wax - not dripping down the sides, and not pooled under it - but Stiles was almost positive the purple taper had been about a half an inch longer when he’d left the night before. After trying once again to blow it out, to no effect, Stiles curiously tried to touch the flame. It was warm, but not hot, and it almost tickled against his skin. Stiles picked up his note - which had a single word addition, _‘okay’_ in Derek’s handwriting - and tried to use the candle to set the paper on fire.

No dice; it wouldn’t burn.

“Okay, check yes in the _magical item_ column for both the candle _and_ the book, then.” Stiles muttered to himself, carefully tucking both items into his basket. He figured he didn’t need to worry about the candle; if it wasn’t burning paper, odds were the other contents of the basket - and the basket itself - were safe enough.

Opting out of lurking in Derek’s loft, given the nature of the spell and its current incarnation, Stiles headed back downstairs. He stopped long enough to grab two other books on magic - specifically on _breaking_ spellcasting of various types - before heading out of the loft. After climbing into the jeep and setting his basket on the passenger seat, Stiles drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel for a minute. He really didn’t want to do all of the research on this himself, and he definitely wanted to fill the pack in on the details he’d already learned about the spell, but he wasn’t sure who it was safe to be around. Finally deciding Lydia was probably the best bet - on both the research _and_ safety fronts - Stiles threw the jeep into drive and headed towards her house.

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

Lydia dragged Stiles outside to do research. “It’s actually nice out for once, and I’m not sitting cooped up inside when it’s probably going to be raining in another day or two. Or, if not that, at least a good fifteen degrees colder. If not more.”

Stiles had followed her out onto the back deck, and they had the candle and book set between them. Lydia had quickly found the spell - _“It’s designed to alter reality to fit the ‘construct’ provided by the caster, in this case your costume, but only for a limited time.”_ \- and now it was just a matter of trying to undo it. The candle seemed to be the key to the whole thing, though they hadn’t figured out what purpose it was serving yet. Stiles was flipping through one of the books he’d taken from the loft, frowning, when things got weird. Well...weird _er._

“Um, Stiles...?” Lydia’s bemused voice broke into his concentration, and he looked up to raise an eyebrow at her, hoping she’d get to the point quickly. “Look behind you.”

Cautiously, Stiles turned his head. He sucked in a stunned breath and flailed. “Oh my god, what the fuck?” There, lined up on the deck’s railing, were _birds._ A lot of birds. Like, an _unnerving amount_ of birds. There were also two squirrels, and a chipmunk was creeping across the deck towards Stiles’ chair. It didn’t stop when he flailed, or shouted, and none of the other wildlife flinched. “Lydia, what...oh my god, this is _not_ happening.”

“Fairy tale logic dictates woodland creatures should be at ease with you.” Lydia pointed out, and there was laughter in her voice. “Little Red Riding Hood was comfortable in the forest, and all of the creatures who called it home were friends with her, except the wolf, obviously. So.”

“This is ridiculous.” Stiles muttered as he watched a deer walk calmly across Lydia’s property, edging closer to the deck. “Where are they even coming from?” A bird suddenly landed on Stiles’ shoulder - a cardinal, brilliant red and black plumage matching Stiles’ outfit - and sang in a way that sounded like a very tiny car alarm.

Lydia giggled. “Oh, Stiles. It’s fairy tale magic, of course it’s ridiculous.” She shook her head, still smiling. “Honestly, I’m just glad it’s not really affecting me. I guess being a banshee is letting me see _around_ the enchantment, so everything about it is something I notice as _off._ Whereas my mom didn’t question you being dressed like that, _at all,_ and the wolves are apparently affected directly.”

“Allison was affected, too, and maybe Nick? He said something a little off last night, cautioning me about places that are off-limits.” Stiles shrugged, grateful when it dislodged the bird, though it only moved to the table. “Allison makes sense, because she’s a hunter. There’s one of those in the story, right?”

“A hunter, or a woodsman, depending on the version.” Lydia agreed easily, flipping through a book with a nonchalance that set Stiles’ teeth on edge. But then, he supposed her disconnect was to be expected; _she_ wasn’t the one who was cursed, after all. “And anyway, I think in some versions Red is warned by her mother or other villagers not to stray from the path. Nick was watching over you last night, as were the queens - lovely ladies, by the way, I have to say I approve - so it makes sense they’d be touched by it, at least a little.”

“I wasn’t looking for approval.” Stiles snapped. “I was trying to show you all that I have a life outside the pack, and it’s a _good one._ One with friends who care about me, and dancing, and partying, and being hit on. I’m not the worthless loser you all seem to think I am, and I’m not content with being brushed off. So either I’m part of the pack or I’m not, but I’m done settling for halfway. I’ve got other offers.”

Lydia set her book down, looking apologetic. “Oh Stiles...I don’t think you’re worthless, or a loser. I know I’m a little mean, but I never meant to hurt you.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly. “You’re pack, one hundred percent. We rely on you, for research and magic and planning. I know you get pushed aside when there’s couple-stuff going on, but we...we aren’t trying to do it, you know. It just happens when you’re one of the only single people in the group. We do it to Derek, too, because he’s not seeing anyone. But we can work on it, I promise. I’ll try to be less couple-oriented, so you’re included more.”

When Stiles nodded, feeling a little choked up at how sincere Lydia sounded, she added. “You’re welcome to bring Nick around, too. He seems really sweet, and you didn’t need to hide your boyfriend from us just because he’s not supernaturally-inclined. We can be around him without giving ourselves away.”

And... _wow._ Major misunderstanding there. “Nick isn’t my boyfriend. He just...he’s a friend.” Stiles was actually really flattered that Lydia thought he’d landed Nick, because the bartender was _hot._ Like, on-par with any of the pack levels of hotness. _But._ “He thinks of me like a little brother. I’m not dating anyone right now, though Alissah keeps trying to set me up with people.”

“Oh.” Lydia was still smiling, but there was a flush of color in her cheeks now that hadn’t been there before. “I’m sorry, I just assumed. He had his arm around you a lot, and he danced with you, so I just...sorry.”

“He’s just protective of me. They _all_ are.” Stiles explained, because Lydia was at least _talking to him_ now, which hadn’t happened in a couple of months, unless it was pack-related business. “Nick and the girls take turns making sure I’m following my dad’s rules about drinking and making sure no one creeps on me when we’re out. Last night was his turn to play guardian, that’s all.”

When Lydia nodded, Stiles cleared his throat. “Okay, so...enough about my non-existent love life, right? Let’s focus on the spell. I really don’t want to go to school in this outfit tomorrow, and I also don’t want to be stuck in head-to-toe red.”

Lydia’s grin widened. “At least you’ll match.” When Stiles glared, she laughed and nudged him under the table with her foot. “Whatever happens, I don’t think anyone who’s not a supernatural creature will notice that you wouldn’t normally be wearing a Little Red Riding Hood costume. It seems like the spell glosses over the _‘that’s odd’_ aspect of the way it’s affecting reality to anyone who’s not naturally immune or resistant to magic, or inherently magical themselves.”

Stiles muttered under his breath about small blessings, and Lydia rolled her eyes before going back to the book she was checking. Stiles nudged her under the table this time, a silent thank you. The brief press back she gave with her foot let him know she understood. It was closer to her than he’d felt in a long time, and Stiles had to admit that, whatever else happened with this spell, he was grateful for _this._

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

Stiles had, in fact, found himself in school the next day, wearing the costume. He hadn’t _wanted_ to, but Lydia had pointed out that going along with the spell might be the best way to discern more about its goal. Because the magic had disobeyed its caster, reaching for Stiles and the spark inside of him rather than doing what it had been called to do. The book the magic was from whispered to Lydia, but the whispers were soft and didn’t tell her much, only that it was trying to help. Lydia had asked _how_ it was helping - what it was trying to accomplish - but the whispers hadn’t answered her question. They’d just continued their cryptic talk of assistance; of like helping like, as it should. Lydia had said maybe the book had belonged to a spark, once upon a time, and that was why it had reached for him; that the magic still inside the old vellum pages was the remnants of another like Stiles, and he’d unintentionally called to the book simply by being close enough.

Stiles declared his hatred for all things magical, but obligingly took the book home with him when he left Lydia’s house. And on Monday, he went to school in the stupid costume, the book tucked safely in a box in his closet; a box that was warded and filled with mountain ash. The candle was sitting on his dresser, flame still burning without so much as a flicker. It was _definitely_ shorter, he noted, eyeing it curiously before running out of the house so he wouldn’t be late. _Again._

The whole thing was insane, but Stiles was actually amused by the way no one questioned his outfit. He was _less_ amused by the way everyone called him _Red_ the whole day, but it was still better than his given name and he’d been called worse, so in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t a big deal.

Stiles carefully avoided the pack as much as possible for most of school. It was only when lunch rolled around that he realized he was going to have to make a choice. Either sit with the pack and let the spell do whatever it was going to...or sit elsewhere and risk the spell pushing the pack into doing something that might give them away. It wasn’t much of a choice, in the end. As much as he hated being pushed aside - as much as he was angry at the pack a lot of the time these days - he would never jeopardise their safety.

He sat down next to Allison - she and Lydia were holding the table until everyone else arrived, apparently - and she immediately gave him a concerned look. “Red...you shouldn’t be here, with your basket full of goodies. Wolves are dangerous creatures.” Her mouth pinched and she gritted out from between clenched teeth. “I hate this spell.”

And Stiles laughed, because god, it was good to see Allison’s temper flaring over something as silly as forced dialogue. “I’m going to take a guess here and assume your intended meaning was, _Hey, Stiles, good to see you. Is it safe for you to be this close to the pack while the magic is still in place?_ Or something to that effect.”

Allison nodded, looking relieved, and Stiles smiled a little wider. “Cool. This is like, a version of charades or whatever, that’s not too bad. And Lydia thinks letting the spell work its magic - pun intended - might help us learn more about it, so we can hopefully undo it.”

“It’s clearly casting Allison in the roll of the woodsman, or the _hunter_ as some stories read.” Lydia pointed at Stiles with her chopsticks, which were neatly pinched around a piece of sushi. “Anything new?”

“The candle’s smaller.” Because it was the only thing that had changed, really. “I think maybe the candle is the timer for the spell. Like, as long as it’s burning the spell keeps going. And it’s shrinking - slowly, but still - as the spell’s effect winds down.”

Allison hummed softly. “Lydia said the spell is only meant to be temporary, so is it better to let it wear off or should we be trying to put the candle out sooner?”

“My vote is for letting it run its course.” Lydia said, before taking a bite of her lunch while shooting Stiles a pointed look. They’d had that argument the night before.

“Except in the original story, Red _gets eaten.”_ Stiles pointed out, around a mouthful of fries. “Like, literally just chowed down on. So, not real keen on acting this particular fairy tale out.”

Lydia and Allison both paused to think about it, and that was when the wolves arrived.

Isaac immediately leaned across the table, smiling in a way that was far too fang-y for public. “Hey, Red. Looking good. Still waiting for a big, bad wolf to eat you up?” He winked and then paled, jerking away and slinking to the other end of the table with a muttered curse.

“See? Do you _see_ how creepy this spell is?” Stiles hissed, gesturing to Isaac and silently cursing his own flushed cheeks. “That’s not even half as bad as what Peter said to me, mind you, but still.” He glared at Scott as his best friend sat down next to Allison. “If you say something sexual to me, I’m going to kick you in the balls. I just want to make that clear.”

“Uh, _ew.”_ Scott wrinkled his nose up with a frown. “Gross.” Then his mouth twisted into a smirk and his eyes flashed the glowing color Stiles jokingly called _beta-gold._ “You might appeal to wolves, Red, but _I’m_ not the big-bad in this fairy tale. Someone’s itching to sink their teeth into you. It’s just not me.”

Stiles snorted, then rolled his eyes. “Good to know our bro-ness is enough to keep the spell at bay, then. Also, a little hazy on the whole, _appeal to wolves_ thing, but definitely happy you don’t plan on getting a little too up in my business.”

Lydia hummed thoughtfully. “I’m betting he means the fact that you’ve got a very nice neck. Long, slim...from an instinctual perspective, it’s bound to appeal to them. Jackson’s been known to complain about it, actually, because it bothers him to notice you’re attractive.”

“And I can just...override that instinct and fight the spell - sort of anyway - because Stiles and I are practically brothers?” Scott asked curiously. When Lydia nodded, Scott grinned. “Cool. Anything’s better than being influenced by magic. The whole thing with it twisting my words is bad enough.”

“But Peter was definitely compelled to say pervy stuff.” Stiles pointed out, then nodded up the table to where the other wolves were listening in, but not trying to talk, clearly concerned about the spell’s influence. “And both Isaac and Erica have gone full creeper-wolf on me. So what’s up with that?”

“It’s biology.” Cora said, and her words were tense and clipped. “Peter was able to resist once he knew what was going on, at least _mostly,_ and I can too. It’s because we’re born wolves and were taught control long before we felt the moon’s pull for the first time. I do feel compelled to follow you. Like, once you’re in range of any of my senses, I want to slink closer and just... _observe._ I feel a little bit of attraction to you, and the words are right there at the back of my throat, demanding to be said, but I can bite it down if I focus hard enough.”

Cora’s eyes flashed gold and she growled before adding. “I always find you a little attractive, though. Biology, like I said, because you’re physically sort of the stereotype that appeals to wolves. So it’s not making me feel anything I don’t normally. It’s just...pulling at that.” Her eyes flashed gold again and she bit out. “I’m only giving in because it’s making my head hurt, but... _stray from the path a little, Red. Come and play in the woods. We wolves can be a lot of fun, if you just give us a chance.”_

“Aaaand, on _that_ note...I’m done with lunch.” Stiles shoved his tray away from himself, making a face. “Cora, you’re gorgeous, really, but a _world_ of no goes into my refusal. A world of no goes into my refusal of _every one of you assholes,_ actually, because none of you have ever shown an interest in me before this and the _fuck_ if I’m going to jump on board with this when you fuckers could’ve easily initiated something a whole lot sooner, _without_ a magic whammy, if you’d wanted to. So no. No to _infinity.”_

Cora shrugged, then Erica piped up. “Hey now, Red, I _totally_ tried to talk you into the woods before this. It’s not my fault you were more interested in staying on the path than you were in a little bit of a run through the trees.” She smiled, all red-slicked lips and gleaming teeth. “But if you’re interested now...”

“You have a boyfriend.” Stiles snapped, pointing at her angrily. “And he is sitting _right next to you,_ looking like he wants to have me for lunch. In...in a very weird, kinda pervy way, but _still.”_ Stiles shuddered and shook his head. “I am not the filling in that sandwich, are we clear? Stiles is not the filling in _any_ sandwich!”

He pointed at Isaac next and added. “And _you_ can just keep making lovey heart eyes at Scott and Allison and limit yourself to _that_ whole mess, okay, buddy? I’m not getting anywhere near _any_ of that. Ever. No. No dice, folks, this is not happening.”

Lydia placed a soothing hand on his arm. “Honestly, Stiles. Calm down. No one seems inclined to force themselves on you, so I think it’s fine. The story of Little Red Riding Hood is all about temptation, and being led astray, so I think suggestive comments and teasing are about as far as the spell will push.” She considered Stiles for a moment, then added. “I’d say Peter’s the biggest concern, except you said he got a handle on it pretty quickly and seemed more annoyed by the spell than anything. But his latent desires would be most potentially harmful, so I think he’s really the only _threat_ to you. Everyone else might wind up embarrassed, but I think it’s fairly safe.”

“I’m carrying a basket of poison and magical weaponry, Lydia.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m not worried about my safety. I’m worried about my sanity.”

“Stay on the path.” Allison chimed in, and she looked doubly cross. “Don’t go wandering in the woods, where it’s not safe. Don’t stray from where you’re meant to be. Be safe.”

Lydia’s lips twitched up a little in amusement. “I think, what she’s saying, is that you shouldn’t go courting trouble the way Little Red does in the story.” Allison nodded and Lydia shrugged. “She’s got a point. If you want to protect yourself from the spell, your best bet is to steer clear of temptation until it wears off. The spell can’t play out the story if you don’t follow the plot.”

Stiles figured it was probably the best bet he had, and of course he wasn’t going to go wandering around in the woods while he was bespelled. He just hoped it wore off soon.

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

On Tuesday, after school, Stiles got sick of the stupid candle - which wasn’t burning down anywhere near fast enough for his liking - and decided to do everything in his power to douse the flame. He held it submerged in the bathtub for twenty minutes before accepting that water wasn’t going to do it. He held it in front of the box fan they had, turned up to full power. When that didn’t work, he turned on the leaf blower from the garage and tried to use _that._ It didn’t work any better than the fan or Stiles’ own breath had. He also tried smothering the flame with a blanket, and putting it in the freezer, and burying it in the yard, but nothing had any effect on it. The little flame held steady and true, and the candle burned down at the same pace as before. Which was to say, very slowly.

On Wednesday, Stiles wore jeans and a tee-shirt and a hoodie to school, and accepted that by the time he actually arrived there, he’d be wearing red. Which he was. And as much as Stiles hated that he was stuck in one color, he was a little _more_ sick of wearing a dress all the time. Cora was still the only one who could resist the spell twisting her words, and not without a lot of effort. The others were split down the middle in the way they handled the whole mess. Either they weren’t talking to him _at all,_ or they said whatever the spell made them say and then stared at Stiles expectantly until he discerned their real meaning. Neither option was enjoyable.

On Thursday, Stiles was overcome with the very powerful urge to wander in the Preserve. He resisted with every ounce of willpower he had. Admittedly, that wasn’t a lot, but he was determined to hold out for as long as he could. The candle was getting smaller every day, after all, and he just had to stay strong long enough for the spell to burn itself out.

On Friday, Stiles gave in.

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

School let out on Friday and Stiles - dressed again in jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie - found himself parking his jeep in one of the little parking lots that dotted the edge of the Preserve. He hadn’t intended to drive there. He’d left school with every intention of going home and staring intently at the candle again. He’d been trying to will it to go out. The way he figured it, if spark magic had created the spell, then surely spark magic would be able to end it. So far it hadn’t worked, but Stiles wasn’t sure if that was because the spark who’d owned the book originally was stronger (or perhaps simply better-trained) than he was, or if it was because the spell simply _couldn’t_ be ended early, but he had no intention of giving up. Though based on the way the candle was losing height - about an inch a day - the spell was only timed to last a week total. Meaning he had one more day to get through and then everything would be back to normal.

Or, well...as normal as things ever were in Beacon Hills.

And still, despite his best intentions, Stiles found himself parking the jeep and climbing out. He stared at the trees, and the path leading into them, and wondered what harm could come from a short walk. _‘Just to appease the spell a little...'_ He thought to himself, stepping up to the edge of the path. _‘The town’s been quiet for months. Derek has the territory secure. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’_

Taking a steadying breath, Stiles shifted one foot from the gravel parking lot to the dirth path. Nothing happened, of course, because why would it? So Stiles moved forward a little more, both feet solidly on the forest path now, and _still,_ nothing happened. Shaking his head and smiling a little - because honestly, he hadn’t been afraid to be in the Preserve for a while - Stiles started walking.

He hummed softly to himself as he made his way through the trees, ignoring the birds and squirrels and other wildlife that flew and hopped and scampered around him. Since the animals bothered him even when he was in town - even when he was _inside,_ if there was an open window or other viable point of egress - he wasn’t really fazed by it any more. In all honesty, they weren’t even bothering him. They just seemed to enjoy being in his presence, which meant they followed him around but didn’t really interfere with his activities. Though it _was_ a little odd to try to fill out a test with a sparrow perched on the end of his pencil, tweeting cheerfully all the while. Stiles had wondered if the teacher would be upset, but she’d just smiled indulgently. Everyone else in class had done the same. Stiles figured it had something to do with the way everyone who met Little Red Riding Hood loved her, in the original story.

And hey, if it kept people from being suspicious or cruel for the duration of the spell, Stiles wasn’t going to complain about it.

So the little animal entourage wasn’t much of a bother, and actually served as one hell of a warning system. For instance, when they all took off into the trees in unison, Stiles stiffened and wondered which of the pack was approaching him. He silently hoped it was Scott. Or, barring that, anyone _not_ Peter.

On the upside, it wasn’t Peter. On the downside, it wasn’t _pack._

Stiles stared warily at Chris Argent, who had a crossbow in his hands and a smirk on his lips. “Uh, hey there, Mr. Argent. What’s going on?”

“Just patrolling the Preserve.” And Chris’ smirk slid into that creepy smile he had, which other people somehow found charming but which always reminded Stiles of the Joker. “What are you doing in the woods, all alone? We both know that isn’t safe.”

“Safe enough, these days.” Stiles defended himself, taking a hasty step back when Chris moved closer. “I mean, no trouble in months, right?”

Chris stalked closer still, until Stiles was backed into a tree on the edge of the path. Bark dug into his shoulders and back through his t-shirt and hoodie, and Chris was a line of heated menace all along his front, despite the fact that they weren’t actually _touching._ “Any particular reason you’re all up in my business right now? Because there’s a spell in effect and I think it might be getting to you, just a little.”

“Because me pinning you to a wall to make you see sense is new.” Chris said dryly and...okay, yeah, he had a point there, but _still._ “I told you a while ago you needed to stay away from wolves. I told you to stay out of the woods, because they aren’t safe, not really. Not even on the path. Wolves will always devour sweet young things like you, no matter how careful you try to be around them. No matter how _safe_ they seem. Because evil things have a way of seeming _nice.”_

And Stiles’ brain got stuck for a minute on Sondheim, and a little girl in a red cape singing about a wolf, and the words, _‘Nice is different than good.’_ But Stiles was bristling, because _no._ “You mean like _Kate_ seemed nice when Derek met her, and loved her, and she burned his family to ash and smoke? Or like your wife seemed nice before she tried to poison an innocent sixteen year old boy for something he had no choice in? Or all the times _you’ve_ tried to come across as nice when it’s clear you still don’t think of the pack as anything but feral animals who could turn at any moment?” And Chris lurched back another few steps with every sentence Stiles bit out, but he wasn’t stopping; not now. “I think I’m pretty damned practiced at knowing the difference between _nice_ and _good,_ thanks, and I don’t need your help with figuring it out. Keep your warnings for someone who actually needs saving. Red cape or not, I am _not_ the victim in this story.”

Ignoring the way Chris was trying to speak - the way his face was twisted in on itself as he tried to piece together an argument for Stiles’ words - Stiles turned on his heel and stomped back the way he’d come. He’d had enough of the woods for one day.

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

Saturday found the candle burning steadily towards its own demise. Lydia assumed - and Stiles agreed - that the spell would end late in the evening, at the precise moment it was cast, a week later. Stiles sort of wished he’d thought to look at a clock, but his phone had been tucked into the basket and he’d been focused on being whammied, and then on the party, and he wasn’t sure Derek even _had_ a clock in the loft. At least, he couldn’t remember ever having seen one. The stove and microwave clocks weren’t even set the last time Stiles had bothered looking at them. But because the spell was ending, and because they couldn’t be sure of the exact moment it _would_ end - they could only speculate - Stiles found himself back in the costume for the day.

Because, as Lydia had pointed out, the spell _wanted_ him in the costume, and maybe something would go wrong with the spell ending if he wasn’t wearing it when the spell wore off. 

Stiles dropped a healthy dinner off with his dad at the station - and did his best not to think about Red Riding Hood delivering food to her grandmother - then swung through a drive-thru for a burger and curly fries. He parked in the corner of the parking lot and ate in the jeep, because if his dad saw the wrappers in the trash he’d pout for a week over Stiles eating things he forbid the Sheriff to eat. Then he put gas in the jeep and grabbed snacks from the gas station before heading home. He intended to spend the evening staring at the candle until it finally guttered out. At which point he was fully planning to strip the costume off and celebrate by putting on several layers of _not red_ clothing. As far as celebrations went, it wasn’t exactly exciting, but Stiles didn’t really care. It was going to be _awesome._ If he didn’t wear another scrap of red until graduation, that was A-okay with him. He’d wait longer than that, if he could, but he couldn’t do much about the school’s colors.

He unlocked the front door, stepping inside and locking it behind him before hanging his keys on the hook by the door and setting his basket on the hall table. He turned and took two steps when a flash of tan uniform in the upstairs hall caught his eye. It threw Stiles off, because he’d _just_ seen his dad, like, an hour ago, and Noah wasn’t supposed to be home until the early hours of the morning. He’d told Stiles as much. Instantly wary, Stiles mounted the stairs, voice trembling a little as he gave into the horror-movie-cliche.

“H-hello?” Another flash of tan as he reached the top of the stairs, disappearing into Stiles’ bedroom. He followed it, feeling a little like a puppet on a string - like he couldn't have stopped if he wanted to - still speaking. “Is that you, Dad?”

Stiles stepped into his room, which seemed empty, jumping and spinning around when the door was pushed shut to reveal... _oh._ “You...are not my dad.”

“Are you sure about that?”

And yeah, okay; Derek was a sassy fucker when he wanted to be, and Stiles had to admire that a little bit, but _not right now._ Not when Derek was standing in his bedroom, wearing a Deputy uniform, eyes glowing red and claws tipping his fingers. _Dangerous,_ for all that Stiles knew Derek would never hurt him. That he had, in fact, nearly died to protect Stiles more than once. For all that he trusted Derek with his life, Stiles was suddenly certain who the spell was casting in the roll of _Big Bad Wolf._ And he was scared.

His mouth moved, and the words came out a little sarcastic but still too familiar for comfort, given the circumstances. “My, Dad, what big _ears_ you have...” And yes, Stiles would admit that the pointy wolf-ears were actually sort of cute, but only to himself.

“The better to hear your voice with, sweet boy.” Derek’s words came from between gritted teeth that Stiles was a little relieved to note were still human.

And Stiles was speaking again, almost before Derek had stopped, because he couldn’t help it. Maybe it was because the spell was almost out of time, and it was putting everything it had into these last moments. Or maybe it was because the candle - small as it was - was in the room with them. Whatever the reason, Stiles was powerless against the words tripping off his own tongue.

“My, what _red eyes_ you have...” And okay, the words were off from the original story, and Stiles was still edging them with sarcasm, but...he knew how this scene ended, and it wasn’t boding well for him.

“All the better to see you with, sweet boy.” Derek’s voice was low, a growl underlining the words, and he stepped closer to Stiles. His movements were graceful, as always, but also predatory. Stiles felt _hunted._

“My...” Stiles’ words were a little breathless as he tried to discretely back away from Derek, though there wasn’t much point; the alpha was between him and the door, and he wasn’t exactly proficient with using the window, unlike _some_ people. “What _sharp claws_ you have...”

Derek’s lips curved up into a feral smile even as he herded Stiles towards his own bed. He brought one hand up, looking at his own claws, before bring his eyes back to Stiles’ and growling. “All the better to protect you with, sweet boy.”

_Oh._ Well, that hadn’t been in the story. Stiles felt something that had clenched tight inside him loosen, even as his heart tried to jackrabbit itself right out of his chest. Even like this, pushed by the spell into the role meant for the villain, Derek’s thoughts were on keeping him safe. Even now, after all the ways in which Stiles had been pushed to the side and the edges of the pack, Derek still wanted to protect him. It made this a little less frightening; made him a little more sure that Derek could fight the spell if it tried to make him hurt Stiles.

Derek’s fangs were suddenly gleaming in his mouth, making Stiles take another startled step backwards. His knees hit the edge of his bed and he toppled onto it, landing flat on his back with a slight bounce. Gasping out around his shock, Stiles managed to deliver what he was suddenly positive was his final line in the story. “My, what _big teeth_ you have!”

And Derek’s fangs slid away, even as he leaned down and bracketed Stiles’ body in with his arms. With only a few inches between their faces - and with Derek’s large body all but pinning him to the bed - the alpha whispered _his_ final line. “All the better to mark you as mine with, sweet boy.”

Stiles heart stuttered in his chest, and he couldn't help the whimper that slid past his lips. “I...wh-what?”

Because this was _Derek._ Alpha werewolf, gorgeous beyond words, self-sacrificing idiot who cared too much and had no idea how to show it. Derek, who seemed to barely tolerate Stiles on a good day. Derek, who pushed Stiles away, to the very edges of the pack, more often than anyone else; who told Stiles to sit things out, even when the plans they were following were _his._ Derek, who never told Stiles anything, and half the time got pissed at whichever pack member filled Stiles in on the latest threat. Derek, who had said a grand total of maybe fifty words to Stiles in the last month, most of which were some variation of _shut up_ or _go away_ or _this doesn’t concern you._

Derek, who Stiles had promised himself he wouldn’t fall in love with. Because contrary to popular opinion, Stiles actually learned from his mistakes. He’d vowed to never go through what he went through with Lydia, ever again. If a person was blatantly, wildly, outrageously out of his league...Stiles wasn’t interested. Wouldn’t _let_ himself be interested. Except that Derek was beautiful inside and out, for all of his surly behavior, and he was smart and funny and one of the purest souls Stiles had ever had the good fortune to meet. He hid it well, under angry eyebrows and scruff and leather jackets and growled words and broody silences, but he was _good._ Down to the core of who he was, Derek Hale was loving and kind and generous to a fault. And as much as Stiles would always love Lydia, no matter how cruel she sometimes was to him, it was _nothing_ compared to how he felt about Derek.

Stiles had always assumed Derek knew. That the reason Derek pushed him away so hard was because he could tell how Stiles felt about him, and he didn’t want anything to do with it. So Stiles went out with the queens. He danced, and flirted with strangers, and on a few memorable occasions had the breath kissed right out of him before one of his _guardians_ swooped in with admonishments about jailbait that sent his admirers running. Stiles told himself that he was fine; that he would love Derek from a distance and never let it affect him. For the most part, he felt like he’d done a damned good job. He knew Derek didn’t want him; knew Derek would _never_ want him. So letting go was as simple as never saying anything about his own feelings.

Except now he had six feet of well-muscled alpha werewolf hovering over him on his bed, and the word _mine_ echoing in his head, and the sudden fear that Derek was going to come to his senses any second and be disgusted, or furious, or _indifferent._ Stiles didn’t think he could handle that. Having the thing he wanted most of all dangled in front of him like bait on a hook only for it to be snatched away...no, Stiles wasn’t strong enough for that. It would break him in a way nothing else had managed to. Not losing his mom which was tangled up with relief that the whole thing was finally over and no one was suffering anymore. Not giving up on Lydia, which he’d always known was a pipe dream anyway. Not slowly losing Scott to people who were everything Stiles wasn’t and a life he could never _truly_ be a part of, no matter how much he kept trying to be. _Nothing_ was going to compare to the moment he now realized was inevitable. The moment the spell broke and Derek snarled at him that he didn’t want Stiles around him anymore; didn’t want Stiles around his pack; didn’t want to even know Stiles _existed._

The moment he told Stiles everything Stiles already knew was true.

Derek leaned down, intent clear in every line of his face; in every movement of his body; in the still-glowing red eyes locked on Stiles’ mouth. And Stiles couldn’t help the way his voice broke on his next words, and he couldn’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed about it. _“Please..._ please, Derek, _don’t...”_

If Derek kissed him now, Stiles knew it would kill him, because it _wasn’t real._

Derek froze, and looked at Stiles with a desperate longing and a heartbreaking sadness that Stiles couldn't make sense of. “I...I just...” And Derek’s voice was hoarse, and miserable, and it made Stiles _ache_ to hear him sounding so broken, because Derek had suffered more than anyone deserved, especially him. “Stiles, just...let me, just this once, I...”

Stiles let out a shaky breath as Derek leaned down again, though this time he nuzzled under Stiles’ jaw, making soft sounds - whimpers and sighs and quiet growls - between words. “I just...I know you don’t...that this isn’t what...it’s not what I...” Derek groaned as he pressed his nose to the spot behind Stiles’ ear and pulled in a deep breath, and Stiles wasn’t even really listening to what the alpha was saying, because this was _torture._ “I just want to kiss you, and I...one time, Stiles, then I...I swear, I won’t ask again. I...the spell, it’s so much harder to...”

And Stiles shoved at Derek’s chest, his own heaving even as the werewolf instantly rolled to the side, off of him. “I can’t. Derek, I...you need to leave. Go. The spell will end soon and you...you can pretend this never happened. I won’t...” Stiles’ words tangled on his tongue and he cleared his throat, trying so hard to maintain his level tone as he continued. “I won’t bring this up. I won’t tell anyone what the spell made you do. But you need to go.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Derek managed in a whisper. “Stiles, _please...”_

“Why?” Stiles hadn’t meant for it to come out angry, but it _did;_ sharp around the edges and raw and too much like it hurt to say. And once the words started, it was like he couldn’t stop them. _“Why,_ Derek? Haven’t I suffered in silence all this time? I don’t touch you, or flirt with you, or make excuses to stay after everyone leaves! I learned my lesson with Lydia, okay? I don’t bother you with my feelings, even though _everyone_ knows I have them, and I was never _going to_ bother you with them, so _why?_

“Why are you torturing me this way, when we both know this ends with the spell breaking and you telling me to get lost because hey, I guess I’ve got a nice neck or whatever and wolves like that, but the rest of me is so goddamned repulsive none of you _actually_ want me, and I can’t take this, Derek. Not from you.” Stiles’ voice wound down as he spoke, finally trailing off. “It hurts too much...”

Derek was on his side, pushed halfway to sitting, and he was staring down at Stiles with something unreadable on his face. “You...like me?”

_Fuck it._ “No, Derek, I don’t _like_ you.” Because Stiles figured if this was going to end with him losing Derek, and likely the whole pack, then he was going to go down swinging. “I love you. I’ve been in love with you since...I don’t even _know_ when, really. Since the time you put yourself between me and Jackson and I had to hold you up in the pool for two hours, maybe. Or maybe since you roared Isaac into submission his first full moon, and gave me a cocky smirk while proclaiming yourself the alpha. Or you know what? It might have been when you were willing to attack your own uncle to keep him from killing me, when we found out he was the alpha, and I realized there was _nothing_ you wouldn’t sacrifice to protect the people around you.”

Stiles took a steadying breath, eyes locked on the ceiling because he couldn’t bring himself to see what Derek’s eyebrows might be doing. “I don’t know, okay? But it’s there, and it’s huge, and I did my best to keep from spilling my feelings all over you, but this? This isn’t fair. Because Little Red Riding Hood gets tempted by the Big Bad Wolf and when she gives in, it kills her. And I _get it,_ because if I let you kiss me, knowing it’s not real...that’s it for me, I know it. It’ll wreck me, inside and out, and I...I _can’t._ So just...just _leave,_ okay? Go.”

There was another few heartbeats of tense silence, and Stiles wondered if Derek was trying to find the words to tell Stiles to stay away from him, or if he was considering ways to try to spare Stiles’ feelings, or if he was - possibly - trying to figure out the best way to sneak silently out the window and disappear into the night. When he finally found the courage to look over, Derek was watching him with a small smile on his face. He looked... _amused._ And a little bit fond, around his eyebrows, which Stiles thought was odd and different and not a look he’d ever imagined being directed at him. Normally, that look was reserved for Cora or, on rare occasions, Isaac. It was...soft. Stiles didn’t think Derek had ever felt _soft_ where he was concerned.

“Werewolves have their own versions of fairy tales.” Derek said softly, and he laid down fully on Stiles’ bed, still sideways across it, knees bent off the edge so his feet were braced on the floor. He locked his fingers together and raised his arms, sliding his hands under his head and closing his eyes, looking very relaxed. “Like, in Cinderella, the girl wears a mask and the prince uses the shoe to follow her scent and track her down. In Snow White, she’s poisoned with wolfsbane and the prince...well, you know how we cure _that._ In Sleeping Beauty, she falls into a coma from illness and the fairies preserve her with magic until her true love can come and cure her with the bite, not a kiss.”

Stiles swallowed hard and pulled himself to sitting, scooting himself back against his headboard. He pulled his legs into his chest and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees as he stared at Derek. He’d never seen the alpha look so relaxed. “Why are you telling me wolfy bedtime stories? What’s the _point?”_

“Little Red Riding Hood was always my favorite, when I was little.” Derek turned his head and pinned Stiles with an intense look, and Stiles wondered at the way his eyes had finally stopped burning red. A glance at the dresser showed the candle was still lit, and it made Stiles wonder even more. “Laura used to beg Mom to tell us anything else, but I’d throw a fit until she told that one. Cora used to ask me to tell it to her, because she said I told it best, and Mom said it was because I loved it so much.”

Stiles swallowed hard, then asked quietly. “Will you tell me?” Because he didn’t know what was happening, but he knew it was important. Not to mention he was made of about 87% curiosity, and the idea of _werewolf fairy tales_ was the cutest thing he’d ever heard of.

“We don’t call it Little Red Riding Hood. That’s the human name for the tale.” Derek’s lips curved up again, his smile a little bittersweet as he spoke. “Mom always called it, _The Wolf’s Red Mate_ but Peter called it _The Wolf’s Demise_ and told it with a different ending. I liked Mom’s version better.”

“I bet.” Because Stiles could guess how things ended in Peter’s version, and imagined he'd told it with vicious pleasure to the younger members of his family. It had probably given them nightmares, and Peter had probably laughed himself sick over it. “Will you tell me?” Because he still wanted to know, and Derek _never_ talked about his family or his life before the fire.

“A wolf was walking through the woods one day, and he happened upon a lovely young woman. She was dressed in a red velvet riding cape, though she had no horse, and carried a basket that smelled of bread and wine and sweet cake.” Derek’s voice was soft; almost hypnotic as he told the story, obviously lovingly committed to memory when he’d still been very small. “The wolf had never seen someone so lovely, or someone who smelled so much like home without being pack, and knew immediately that she was meant to be his.”

Derek’s smile had softened and his eyes had closed again, and Stiles imagined he was remembering the sound of Talia’s voice as it wrapped around the words he was reciting. “Taking a chance, the wolf raced ahead of the girl and shook off the shift, waiting for her in the form of a man, which was as much who he was as the wolf. When she reached him, he greeted her kindly and asked where she was off to, alone in the woods with night approaching.

“To visit her sick grandmother, she explained, and help nurse her to health with food and drink and company, and she would reach the cottage before dark so there was nothing to fear.” Derek huffed a small laugh, and Stiles’ lips twitched up at the sound, before he continued. “The wolf told her she should let him walk with her, to see to her safety, but the girl refused and continued on her way. Fearing for her well-being, the wolf changed back and followed her, paws silent as he kept guard without her knowing.”

Stiles smiled a little wider, because he liked this version so far; liked the idea of a werewolf stealthily protecting a human girl as she innocently walked through the woods. “He loved her.” Stiles murmured, though he hadn’t meant to interrupt Derek. “He didn’t know her, but he loved her anyway.”

“Isn’t that how all fairy tales go?” Derek asked, and his eyebrows conveyed his amusement even as his eyes stayed closed; his face smoothed into peaceful lines for the first time that Stiles could remember. “But wolves can tell a mate by scent, and he knew she was his, so of course he loved her. Do you want me to finish the story?”

“Sorry.” Stiles felt a little braver, seeing this side of Derek, and reached out with his foot to nudge Derek gently in the ribs. “Go on, then, big guy. Tell me the story.”

Derek sighed like it was a chore, but continued readily enough that Stiles wasn’t worried. “The wolf reached the cottage first, checking to ensure the way was safe for his love, and smelling blood he shifted into a man to investigate. Doors are difficult for wolves, after all. It would seem the grandmother, in her illness, had fallen and struck her head, and the wolf-turned-man did his best to tend to her. But as he washed the blood from her face, and drew pain from her into himself, the girl arrived and screamed in fear, thinking the worst.”

There was a pause, then Derek spoke in a voice that was a little tight around the edges. “This is where Peter’s version was different from Mom’s.”

Derek took a breath, then pushed on. “When she screamed, the wolf explained that he found the grandmother hurt and that he was trying to help her. He told her everything - showed her that he could shift between wolf and man, and that he could take pain - and swore he was only trying to keep the girl safe. He explained to her that her scent was that of pack and home and _forever,_ and asked if she could ever love a wolf as he loved her.

“In Mom’s version, the girl was touched that the wolf tried to protect her.” Derek’s voice was whisper-soft again, and Stiles had to lean forward to catch all of the words. “She asked to see the shift again and moments later the wolf stood before her, taller than a true wolf, with fur as black as pitch and eyes glowing a fearsome red. He heard a man approaching the cabin - drawn, no doubt, by the girl’s earlier screaming - and the wolf shifted back to a man and begged the girl to believe him. When a hunter stepped into the cabin, the girl declared the wolf her betrothed and said they traveled together to see her ailing grandmother, only to find her injured. She sent the hunter for help and promised herself to the wolf, vowing to go away with him the moment her grandmother was well again, or the moment her grandmother passed - whichever should come to be. And in the end, the wolf and his Red disappeared into the forest, and she gave him cubs, and his pack was strong and large and powerful for generations to come. So much so that some among them were always able to shift fully into wolves, as Red’s love was able to.”

Stiles’ eyes were wide and his mouth had fallen open in shock. “The story...it’s your family’s story? I mean, it’s about your pack’s ancestors?”

Derek shrugged, and he looked uncertain. “That’s how Mom told it, anyway. That we were descended from the Wolf and his Red, and their love was what made our line so strong. That Red could love not just the human in him, but the wolf as well, and so their line - _our_ line - held stronger to the wolf, and never let it slip away even when we hid what we were from the world.”

A slow and shaky exhale passed Derek’s lips as he added. “Peter’s version had the girl not believing the wolf. She demanded he shift again, like in Mom’s version, but when the hunter ran in she accused him of being a demon-wolf and begged the hunter to save her from the evil trying to steal her away.” Derek’s relaxed posture had gone tense and miserable. “The hunter killed the wolf, and the tale was meant to caution us against trusting humans with our secret, warning us that just because we think someone is our mate doesn’t mean they’ll feel the same. It reminded us that what we are is something _more_ but that humans often view us as _less._ Peter delighted in telling us the gruesome ways a hunter might kill a wolf, and he laughed whenever my mother told us the other version. Said she was sugar-coating the truth and making us soft.”

“Your uncle’s an asshole.” Stiles snapped, because that was _horrible_ to do to children; to take a story of love and family and strength and turn it into something dark and terrifying and miserable. “I think your mom’s version is probably the true story. I can’t imagine Red turning down the love of the wolf.”

“Maybe.” Derek’s voice was casual, but in a way that sounded fake. “Peter’s version stuck with me, after the fire.” It wasn’t said, but Stiles heard what Derek was thinking anyway. _After Kate._ “It’s harder than you’d think, to shake something like that loose; the fear that loving someone will end in pain and death and loss.”

Stiles nodded slowly, because he wasn’t sure where this was going but something warm and bright and hopeful was unfurling inside him. “You can’t stop yourself from loving someone, Derek. Trust me, I’ve tried. It doesn’t work that way.”

Derek shrugged. “No, but you can protect yourself. I could never let someone I love be hurt, not if I could help it. I’d put myself between them and anything; between them and the world. I’d give my life to keep them safe. If it meant protecting them from me - from my life, and my world - I’d push them away without a second thought. I’d make them hate me, and accept the pain of that as the price I have to pay for their safety. But telling them how I felt, giving them a chance to use that to hurt others that I care about...”

“Loving someone isn’t the same as trusting them.” Stiles said, and the warmth in his chest had gone cold. “You’d rather be alone than risk falling for someone else like Kate. The Red in Peter’s story got to you first, so the Red from your mother’s never had a chance.”

“I trust you.” Derek said immediately, and he looked stricken at the idea that Stiles would even _think_ he didn’t. “I trust you, Stiles, I do. But when I met you in the woods that day, when you were searching for Scott’s inhaler...all I could smell was _you,_ and the newly-bitten wolf beside you, and you were young...and unknown...and my sister was dead, and I was alone, and...I didn’t know you yet, Stiles. I didn’t know what I know now.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “And now?”

“I wanted you safe.” Derek admitted, and the tips of his ears were turning red as he lowered his eyes, looking embarrassed. “Beacon Hills is far from safe, and you...you don’t exactly have a well-developed sense of self-preservation. You rush headfirst into danger. I couldn't stand the thought of losing you, and everyone knew you loved Lydia, and I...I didn’t know how to tell you that it would break me if you got hurt. I knew you wouldn’t be cruel when you turned me down, but I...I couldn't do it. All I could do was try to keep you safe, and the only way I knew how to do that was to push you away.”

He stared at Derek in silence, until the alpha finally looked up and asked. “Can you forgive me?”

Stiles was very rarely without words. He could babble on about absolutely nothing for hours, and he could make a point so succinct it was little more than a sentence. But the silence between him and Derek stretched on for longer than Derek could apparently bear, which was saying something considering the werewolf was hardly verbose. As Derek started to get off Stiles’ bed, pushing himself up to sitting and already looking towards the window - And really, what was he going to do, go out the window in a deputy uniform, like the weirdest burglar ever? - Stiles grabbed his arm. Derek froze, turning his head slowly to meet Stiles’ eyes, and Stiles suddenly knew exactly how Red had felt in Talia Hale’s story.

Because the very idea that Derek loved him - that Derek would protect him, even if he rejected Derek as Red had rejected her wolf on the path - was amazing and awe-inspiring and impossible to resist.

Derek startled against him as he moved forward, pressing their lips together without ever saying anything. He thought the action ought to be answer enough. Stiles fisted his hands in the Derek's hair and shifted his face up, just a bit, letting his nose slide along the length of Derek's even as his lower lip caught against Derek’s upper one in slow sort of drag. Seconds later, Derek was growling and hauling Stiles onto his lap, kissing back with a hunger Stiles had never thought would be directed at him. It was the stuff of fantasies; hot and fierce and somehow so sweet despite that. Derek kissed him like he needed Stiles more than he needed air; like Stiles was something he’d waited his whole life for but had never believed he’d get to have.

And Stiles knew the queens would admonish him for this, because they’d stressed the importance of communicating with your partner before engaging in any sort of physical intimacy beyond kissing - and there was _no way_ this was stopping at kissing - but Stiles didn’t care. He _couldn't_ care, not when Derek’s hands were sliding under his skirt and petticoats, clawed fingertips catching roughly on his fishnet stockings and no doubt ruining them. Not when his own hands were unbuttoning Derek’s shirt, shoving the tan uniform off broad shoulders and revealing a white t-shirt so tight it looked like it might split at the seams if Derek moved the wrong way. Not when Derek was kissing Stiles’ throat while unfastening his cape, letting the red material flutter to the floor beside the bed as he murmured heated promises against pale, mole-dotted skin.

Stiles wasn’t sure when their shoes came off. Had no idea which one of them had stripped his shredded stockings from his legs. Couldn’t say for sure who’d unzipped Derek’s pants, or who’d thrown Stiles’ boxers onto the little bookshelf built into his headboard. He had a feeling he’d been the one to grab the lube from the nightstand, but that was mostly because he couldn't imagine how Derek would have known where to find it, or even that Stiles _had_ lube, though it probably wouldn’t have been hard for him to guess.

He _did_ know that Derek’s fingers were the ones that stretched him open, his own busy slicking Derek up as he murmured a litany of _‘Hurry, please, can’t wait...’_ against the older man’s lips and jaw and throat. He knew it was Derek’s hands - Derek’s _strength_ \- that controlled their pace; controlled _everything,_ even as Stiles settled securely on his lap. He was certain Derek’s claws were tearing holes in the skirt of the costume Stiles still wore, hands curled tight around Stiles’ hips as he lifted and lowered the teen, face shifting between beta-form and human as he fought with his control.

And Stiles didn’t care; didn’t mind either form. Derek was beautiful regardless, and Stiles loved _all_ of him, just as Red had loved her wolf.

When Derek howled beneath him - _literally_ threw his head back and howled, loud enough that Stiles was positive the other wolves had _all_ heard it, and so had all of Stiles’ neighbors, and maybe all of Beacon Hills - Stiles had never felt more powerful, or more wanted, or more _loved._ He found himself clutching Derek’s shoulders, body curled over him, shaking through his own release mere seconds later. Derek’s arms were around him immediately, his voice a soothing murmur against Stiles’ ear as he shifted them to the side and cradled Stiles against his strong body.

Stiles’ mind settled again to the feel of soft lips and scruffy beard against his cheek, pressing kisses and sweet words there while Derek’s big hands stroked up and down his back. “Mmmm...” Stiles hummed happily, turning his head just enough to catch Derek’s mouth in a sweet kiss. “That was the perfect first time.” His lips curved into a happy smile even as he added around a laugh. “Even if I didn’t manage to get naked for it.”

Derek drew back enough to stare at him in surprise. “I...that was...you’ve never...”

“No.” Stiles blinked, then asked. “You thought I had? No one _ever_ thinks I’ve had sex. I think people could see me having sex and _still_ believe I’m a virgin.”

“You talked about going to Jungle. Dancing. Meeting people.” Derek sounded stunned, but also like he’d just been told he’d won the lottery. “You...really? Just me?”

Stiles’ smile softened and he leaned in to nuzzle at Derek’s throat. “Yeah, Sourwolf. Just you.” He shifted a little, then made a face. “Also, my petticoats are one hundred percent coated in jizz right now and it’s about ten different kinds of gross, so...”

“Nice, Stiles.” Derek sounded exasperated, but he obligingly started helping Stiles out of the costume, tossing the remaining pieces haphazardly off the edge of the bed. “That wasn’t a mood killer or anything.”

“Please.” Stiles rolled his eyes, squirming a little as he snuggled into Derek’s side, savoring the press of skin-on-skin now that they were both naked. “You love me, and want all up on my sexy self. There’s no way anything I say at this stage of things is killing the mood after sex that awesome.”

Derek huffed, but pressed a kiss to Stiles’ bare shoulder as he pulled the younger man against him to stop him from moving around. Stiles wound up as the little spoon, but he didn’t mind too much when Derek was wrapped around him like his own personal blanket, making him feel warm and safe. After a few minutes, he whispered. “I love you, Derek.”

Another kiss, this time to his hair, and Derek rumbled back. “Love you too, Stiles. Now rest. I’m not done with you yet, and you’ll need your strength.”

There was a pause, then Stiles snorted. “That sounded like it was meant to be sexy, but it came out sort of threatening. You might want to work on that.” He yawned, always a little lethargic after a good orgasm, then suddenly pushed out of Derek’s arms, sitting straight up with a gasp. “The candle’s out!”

For a second, Derek didn’t say anything, then he sighed. “We knew it was going to burn out tonight, Stiles. Why are you acting surprised?”

But Stiles was already across the room, fingers curling around the little half-inch stub of purple wax, heedless of his nudity. “No, but like...there’s still candle left. Lydia said the spell would likely consume the whole candle before it ended, and this...this is _not_ consumed! The spell didn’t time out, Derek. It _broke.”_

Derek hesitated, then asked softly. “Do you think...I mean, we kissed, and the spell _was_ adhering to fairy tale logic, so maybe...” He trailed off, because he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it; to suggest that _True Love’s Kiss_ had saved the day (though no one had exactly been in danger to begin with). 

Stiles shook his head, and a soft smile was playing at his lips. “A good theory, but...no. I think...I think it’s because we played out the story’s plot.” He looked over at Derek, fingers curling around the candle’s remains for a moment before he dropped it back onto the dresser. “Red decided to love the wolf, and the wolf loved her. Isn’t that how your mom said the story ended?”

“Yeah. It is.” Derek opened his arms and Stiles slid back into them, happily.

Derek got a mere fifteen seconds of silence before Stiles asked. “So...who’d you steal the uniform from, anyway? I mean, not that I’m complaining, but it’s a crime to impersonate an officer, and I don’t think, _‘A spell made me do it,’_ is going to hold up in court. Or with my dad.”

“It’s mine.” Derek admitted. And when Stiles snorted, clearly disbelieving, Derek leaned over the edge of the bed and snagged the shirt, holding it up and showing off the nametag, which read, _D. Hale._

“Wh...how long have you been a deputy?” Stiles demanded, gasping when Derek quietly murmured _nearly a month, now_ because what the fuck. “Um, _no._ No, because my dad would have told me if you were a deputy, Derek!”

“I asked him not to.” Derek explained, rolling his eyes when Stiles looked indignant. “Calm down. I wanted to tell you myself. I told everyone else the night you stormed out of the pack meeting, and then I didn’t see you for weeks until the party, and then...”

“And then there was the spell.” Stiles finished, because okay, that was fair. “I still can’t believe no one told me, but...I guess I can forgive it. Considering.”

Derek huffed again - a common sound around Stiles - and said. “Stiles, I love you, but please shut up and go to sleep.”

Thankfully, Stiles obeyed.

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

Stiles demanded Derek round up the entire pack the next day, so they could celebrate. Not just the breaking of the spell, but his and Derek’s relationship. Stiles had debated for an hour, but finally dressed in jeans and a Batman t-shirt...and his red hoodie. Because yeah, Stiles hated the idea of being Little Red Riding Hood. But the idea of being Derek’s _Red Mate_ wasn’t bad at all.

Overall, the pack took the news very well. In fact, the only hitch to the whole day came when Jackson wouldn’t stop calling Stiles _Princess._

“Dammit, Jackson, Little Red Riding Hood wasn’t a princess, in _any_ version!”

“In fairy tales, if you wear a dress, and have an animal sidekick, you’re a princess.” Jackson retorted, looking far too smug. “I don’t make the rules, Stilinski.”

“I didn’t have an animal sidekick!” Stiles snarled, face flushed with color. He wasn’t _angry,_ not exactly, he was just a little embarrassed that Jackson couldn’t just...let the spell go, the way everyone else had.

“You were followed around by dozens of wild animals.” Jackson pointed out, like the douchebag he was. “So I figure that counts. Sorry, _princess.”_

Before Stiles could reply, Derek was wrapping his arms around him from behind and whispering into his ear despite knowing Jackson - and all the other wolves - would hear him anyway. “You can be _my_ princess. I wouldn’t mind fucking you while you’re wearing another dress. Want to be Cinderella this time? Or Snow White.” He growled a little and added. “Or you could be Belle, and I’ll be the Beast...”

Stiles whimpered, then noticed the way Jackson looked a little queasy and caught on to what Derek was doing. He bit back a smirk and said breathlessly. “Can we do it with you in your alpha-shift?” Derek wasn’t quite as monstrous as Peter had been - having been feral and all - but he was still large, and furry, and a bit more wolf than man.

Derek growled an affirmative and the rest of the pack began to talk loudly, clearly trying to drown out whatever else the two of them might say. Jackson looked on the verge of throwing up. Turning around to hide his grin in Derek’s chest, Stiles whispered. “You’re kind of an asshole, and I love it.”

“I know.” Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ hair, shaking a little as he laughed softly. “I meant it, though. If you’re interested...”

And Stiles looked up, smiling wickedly, amber eyes bright and happy. “With you? I’m _always_ interested.”

[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPCkxacYynwA7X0qcNahBrj7xoj5lajNODpzMvMohZvEkAAjR0hOwHfmk5PMKpJ7w?key=UUQzRmpvOEtDMlEySmdYMHJ4cVJqSkpzeHZwMk9B&source=ctrlq.org)

The day Derek achieved a full-shift into a wolf, Stiles asked him to marry him. Derek pointed out they’d been engaged for three months, and Stiles said that wasn’t the point. The point, of course, was that Red loved the Wolf and the Wolf loved Red... _forever after._

**_~ The End ~_ **


End file.
